


The Belmont Stakes

by pyrotechnik



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrotechnik/pseuds/pyrotechnik
Summary: Trevor Belmont has had a terrible few years. They don't look to be getting any better in the future.





	The Belmont Stakes

The Belmont Stakes

Ch1

        Trevor Belmont isn’t a fool. That’s what he likes to tell himself, anyway. He’s not so sure it’s the truth, anymore. There was a time when he knew he wasn’t a fool. That time is passed now. It lies buried in ashes under the snow. So when he hears the farmers spitting and cursing his family name, his ears may perk like a hunting hound, but he’s smart enough to keep his nose down. Just…not smart enough, for long enough. Deciding that the atmosphere wasn’t going to improve, he staggered over to the bar to get more to drink.

“’Scuse me, can I have my ale? It’s just that I think I’m getting sober.” He’s proud of the fact he can still stand. Oh. Money? Coins, coins. Where did he put those…ah!

“Ere! Wot’s tha’ on yer chest?”  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Trevor was getting more and more sober by the minute. Bad things happened when he was sober. Horrible things. That’s why he tried to stay perpetually drunk.

“ My shirt.”  There. Nice answer. Not at all odd. Oh. Here came baldy. Right up at him. Shit. Maybe he could still talk his way out of here?

“Look. Here’s the money. I’ll just go.”  Nope.  _Ought to learn to keep your mouth shut, Trev. I have to pull you out of more fights._ No. Trevor shook his head and shook away the voice of his brother. Davi was ash now. Same as all the rest.

Baldy was real insistent he stay. Even asked his name. Well, not so much asked.

“Jesus of Nazareth,” heh. That was funny. Oh. Or not. Mother _fucker!_ Shovel or no, baldy could hit. And then his friends joined in. Wonderful.

Right about the time giant decided to play kick about with his testicles, Trevor had enough. A Belmont he was, and not about to be beaten up by a bunch of drunken farmers. After he finished the fight, and OW. Fucking chair! Trevor staggered to the bar, and grabbed his coin purse.

“You’re ale is for shit,” he muttered on the way out. He staggered into the cold night, and promptly puked up everything in his stomach.

“I hope you bleed out! Through your asses!!”

Fifteen miles to Gresit. Maybe it wouldn’t be as horrible?


End file.
